Jake: Steps from the Patio
by Davis Family Fan
Summary: He did not know him, but he loved him.  And now he was gone.


I feel the need to rectify Guza's many errors. I'll be posting a series of different Jake one-shots concerning how his death has impacted the various people in Port Charles on many levels Guza seems to neglect.

Please Review.

UNEDITED.

**Steps from the Patio**

**Jason**

As was his habit, he snuck in through the patio door. Usually, he had done so because he did not want to encounter his grandfather who would undoubtedly attempt to guilt him about his life's choices, or his aunt who was ensure to tell him that he was worthless. He entered from the patio, off from his beloved grandmother's treasured rose garden, and into the house to see the one person he had, in spite of his erased memories of a life he had once lived, continued to hold a connection.

- "Monica."

She had heard of the young boy's death; it hurt her heart. She had worked with Elizabeth for years, the girl was her daughter's best friend, the former love of her… son.

- "Jason—"

And his presence in her living room stunned her. It was… Thursday. He did not simply show up to see her unless… _something_ had happened.

- "Are you—"

She stared at him, her normally well-composed son; he had tears in his eyes. Something _had_ happened. The look on his face was the same as it had been the day he had done just as he had in that moment… appeared from the patio just off his grandmother's garden; it was the day he had arrived to tell her that her daughter had died. It was the day she had, for the very first time, turned him away… banished him and his life of greed, blood, and death from her life.

- "Okay?"

He was not. Like the grim reaper, rather than the _mob enforcer_, he had to once again tell his mother that someone else in her life… wait… that was not true. Jake had not been in her life… he had not even been in _his_ life… and still, his young life had been cut short. It did not make any sense.

- "My son—"

She misheard… she must have.

- "I'm sorry?"

He cleared his throat as he forced himself to look into her eyes. She was not his biological mother, but she had never, from what he knew, ever treated her as anything but her true son. She loved him in spite of everything that he had done… the way he had shut out _her_ entire family, the fights he had had with his brother, and the way he had lived his life. Even after Emily's death, the anger she harbored toward him for it, she continued to love him… _unconditionally_. It was such a love he knew Lucky had shown to his son… to…

- "Jake… he's… he _was_… my son."

While she should have been shocked, she was not. How could she have been? In hindsight she saw what she should have seen all along: Jake was his spitting image.

- "Jason… I'm—"

And now the pain of not only empathizing with Elizabeth at having lost her child… to have faced the trauma of burying her own child… transformed into a blow in the stomach… her heart… her soul. Her _grandson_ was dead.

- "Sorry."

But she could not focus on yet another of life's terrible blows to her already diminishing family. She had to support him… _her _son.

- "Are you—"

She took a step toward him, to the spot in her living room that held some form of invisible wall between them, that kept him, in spite of being _home_, forever on the outside.

- "Are you… okay?"

She watched as he shook his head. It was a silly question. Anyone looking at the man could see that his emotionless wall was slowly melting at his feet. His core was shattered with every stone that crumbled.

- "Do you… do you want to sit?"

Another shake of the head. She did not need to ask him why he had kept his _son_ from her because he had not; he had kept the boy from himself. And now, any decision to turn back time and to know the young boy was impossible. He was far from okay.

- "I'm—"

She stopped speaking as she watched him pull out from his pocket a small yellow motorcycle.

- "Is that—"

Nodding, he looked down at the toy. He passed his finger along the seat and the wheels as he recalled the last time he had had a conversation with the young boy; it was also the first time. Looking from the toy to his mother who was clearly attempting to hold in her own tears, he took a single step.

- "I told Elizabeth…"

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment to control the tears that threatened to flow from them; he did not have a right to cry for the boy.

- "I told her that I couldn't be a father—"

In spite of his desire to, on the few occasions he had seen him, hold the beautiful boy in his arms, to have him call him _'Daddy'_ rather than Lucky, he had made a decision… the most difficult he had ever come to make… that it could never be.

- "My life… it's too dangerous for children."

He thought about Michael. He had been the first child he had ever loved, a boy he had looked upon and for some time held out to the public as his own. But, look at what happened to him. While not raised as _his _son, he had nevertheless been cruelly affected. Bodyguards. Island hideways from mob danger. Shootings. Comas. Murder in defense of his mother from a woman crazed _because_ of mob influence. Prison. Rape. He had wanted something better for his son… for Jake.

- "He was… he was supposed to have a better life than we gave Michael."

And knowing that he was not yet ready to hear her, she spoke nonetheless.

- "He _did_, Jason. He had a good life—"

It was too short.

- "He—"

She took a step toward him. She saw his inner struggle of whether or not he should even have a right to mourn a son he had chosen not to raise… but that did not mean he did not _love _him. He had loved his son enough to… let him go.

- "I didn't know him well, Jason; but Jake, your _son_, he had a good life. He was _happy_, and _loved_, and given the life I know you wish Michael had been—"

He felt a tear roll down his cheek.

- "He… he was supposed to _live_."

In spite of knowing that his son had been happy and loved, he could not help but wonder if he could have done something to protect him. If perhaps his life filled with danger and mob warfare could have provided his son the protections from… _life._ That the irony of living among criminals, shoot-outs, and all that his life had encompassed, would have spared a child from a senseless death. He knew his thoughts did not make sense, but neither did this.

- "He was _supposed _to _live._"

As any parent who had lost a child, regardless of the relationship that might have existed, she understood.

- "I know."

She stood within a step of him, hoping that he would make the final move toward her.

- "It's okay to cry for him, Jason."

She hesitatingly reached out to him. He had always kept her at an arm's distance, but for once, he might have needed her.

- "You didn't fail him."

He did.

- "He… he… liked yellow motorcycles."

With his red, tear-filled eyes, and his hands gripping the small toy of a boy he had never known, he felt his foot take the final step toward her and into her arms.

- "I… I… didn't know that."


End file.
